


The Wedding

by Sweetlit



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Gen, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Post-Break Up, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, Victorian Attitudes, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 09:47:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16134731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweetlit/pseuds/Sweetlit
Summary: There is a leaden sky over the city of London this morning.I know that the weather had predicted it, but it was certainly not what we had hoped for a day like this.this is a translation of my Italian work "Il matrimonio", please forgive my bad English since it's not my first language!





	The Wedding

There is a leaden sky over the city of London this morning.  
I know that the weather had predicted it, but it was certainly not what we had hoped for a day like this.  
A noise of crockery behind me makes me detach from the window, while the first drops of rain begin to scratch the glass, deforming the shape of my reflection.  
"Your tea, Malcolm. "  
"Thank you, Mrs Church. "  
I sit at a table made of cherry wood and I look at my breakfast: Mrs Church has outdone herself, adding scrambled eggs and beans to the usual toast with jam and bacon side dish.  
"Why so much regard?" I ask her, suspicious.  
"What? It's the usual tray. " She pretends, dusting around with a duvet.  
"No, it's not. We could feed a regiment with this, and the jam. . . "I lift the jar to check it". . . is a premium quality, certainly not that of the usual grocer who has been courting you for fifteen years, but, let's face it, it is a miracle he hasn't poisoned you yet.  
Mrs Church looks at me with reproach, but she doesn't contradict me. It's the first time since I was born, which is why I'm even more sure there's something going on.  
"All right. I'm worried, Malcolm," she admits, sitting in front of me.  
Ah. I had good reason to doubt, then.  
"Worried?"  
"For YOU. This whole marriage thing. . . "  
"Marriage?" Now I'm the one pretending, and I'm not doing it particularly well either.  
"Of course. It's Louisa, after all!"  
"Louisa. " I taste her name for a moment, then I bite it out of one of the toasts. "What problems should there be with her?"  
"Malcolm. " Mrs. Church's hand rests on mine, which convulsely holds the butter knife. "I'm really sorry, and I know you're not at all well. I've known you all your life, and I know how much this is hurting you."  
"Hurting! Louisa and I aren't. . . not anymore, and anyway she chose to marry Henry. A perfectly logical decision, Henry loves her, he's a decent looking man, and he's more than wealthy: he'll make her happy." I get my fork and poke my eggs. They're not well cooked, but I like them that way.  
Mrs Church lets her arm fall back, sighing. I keep staring at the plate, undaunted: I know it wasn't the answer she expected, but what she expected could never be said again.  
"It's not too late, Malcolm. You can still. . . " she shrugs, even she doesn't know what to say.  
"I can be near her side, as she asked me to. I can be her maid of honor, and maybe the man who will lead her for two rounds, after the dance with Henry. I can be the one who will help her bring the suitcase to the station and put it on the train for her honeymoon. But I can't do what you're trying to suggest to me to. " I put the tray aside. I'm not hungry anymore.  
Mrs. Church looks me in the eye, and I hold as long as I can her appealing gaze.  
"So you've decided to give up, have you?" She asks me after a while, with her hands in her lap.  
I don't answer, just look back at her: she knows me well, probably like none else, except for Louisa, of course.  
"You're granitic. " She raises an eyebrow, sad.  
"I'm made of stone" I think to myself, clutching between my teeth the edge of the cup with the tea.  
"I've already told you; Louisa chose for us both. Or maybe I should say three... " I think of Henry, and I'm caught between wanting to throw the teapot out the window and feeling sorry for him. How contradictory sometimes is human nature.  
Mrs Church nods, but I know that in her heart she cannot accept the fact that I have given up.  
Because that's what this is all about: surrendering. It had always been a war between me and Louisa, and neither had ever been willing to give in to the other, and perhaps that was the heart of the matter. With Henry, the good-natured banker of Luton, was surely going to be different.  
"I thank you for your care, Mrs Church, but believe me when I say you can rest easy. Now, if you don't mind, I have to go get ready for the wedding. "  
She looks at me for a long time in silence, conflicted, but stands up before I decide to assert my social position on her.  
"What time do I have to call the car?" She asks me in a detached tone, clearing the tray still full of food.  
"In an hour, thank you. " I hide my face behind the newspaper, even though I know my fingers are shaking, and that she can't help but notice it. I slightly lower the corners, to watch her beat in retreat like a lioness who has just lost her litter.  
"Mrs Church?" I call out to her while she's still at the door.  
"Yes?"  
We observe each other closely, and even though I know I don't need to say it out loud, I do it anyway, because I want her to remember it in the future: ". . . Thank you. " 

 

The end.


End file.
